


Euphoria.

by Basingstoke



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-16
Updated: 2005-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 22:14:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Basingstoke/pseuds/Basingstoke





	Euphoria.

Chase didn't quite know what it was, at first. It sounded like laughter, but from House's office? Surely not.

Then he heard it again, and louder, and when he got up from his lunch and peeked through the glass door, he saw House sitting at his desk. Laughing. He had one hand planted on his desk and the other white-knuckled on his cane as if he were trying to get up and had failed.

Chase weighed concern against the likelihood of mockery. It was a bit of a battle, but concern won in the end, and he opened the door. "Are you all right?" he asked.

House looked up and burst out roaring, slapping his hand against the desk. "Close the blinds!" he gasped.

Chase hesitated, but obeyed, twisting shut the blinds between House's office and the hallway. He was just *laughing*, after all, it wasn't cardiac arrest--though, of course, euphoria was a a symptom of all manner of nasty things. "Are you positive you're all right?"

"Am I all right?" House put his head down. His shoulders shook with a torrent of giggles. "I'm fine!"

No, this wasn't right at all. Chase backed out of the office and stood watching him through the door for a moment, tapping his nails against his elbow.

He made up his mind and paged Dr. Wilson. Wilson responded on the office phone almost immediately. "This had better not be cleavage, Greg," Wilson said.

"No--it's Dr. Chase. Could you come up?"

"What? Why?"

"It's--look, if Dr. House were in the clinic, I would admit him for observation, but I just don't have the authority--"

"I'll be right there." Wilson's voice cut off midway through the last syllable, as if he couldn't wait to finish the sentence before hanging up the phone.

Foreman and Cameron showed up a few minutes later, carrying a stuffed squirrel and a stack of canned vegetables in two clear plastic bags. "We got the stuff from the apartment," Foreman said, then frowned and came to stand beside Chase. "Is he..."

"Is he *laughing*?" Cameron asked incredulously. She stood at Chase's other elbow.

"That's just not right," Foreman said.

"I didn't know he *could*," Cameron said.

House was resting on his elbows on the desk, his shoulders shaking erratically with mirth. He looked up, saw the three of them standing at the door, and roared.

"What's wrong?" Chase turned around to see Dr. Wilson in the doorway.

"He won't stop laughing," Chase said. "Anyone else, I would think he'd heard a bloody good joke, but--"

"But it's House. How long?"

Chase looked at the clock. "About ten minutes without stopping."

Wilson narrowed his eyes and pushed past them into House's office. Chase, Foreman, and Cameron followed him, stopping in the open door.

House looked at Wilson and spluttered. "You're scaring the horses," Wilson said, taking House's wrist and checking his pulse.

"Fuck 'em if they can't take a joke." House giggled and slumped backwards into his chair, wincing slightly.

Wilson looked down. "You didn't."

"I did," House said. Chase went up on his toes, trying to see what Wilson was looking at.

Wilson picked up a letter. He rested his palm on House's forehead without looking. "Dear Greg," he read. "Some goodies from my kitchen. Expecting great things from this one; just don't operate any heavy machinery. Love, Amanda. PS: Still enjoying life on the other side of the country. I only wish the country were wider."

Wilson dropped the letter and looked down at House. "What if I had been Cuddy?" he said.

"It's legal, 100%." House snickered again--though he seemed to be regaining control of himself--and coughed. "Amanda wouldn't poison me. That would be too obvious."

Wilson shook his head. "Come on," he said, leaning down and putting his arm around House. He pulled him up and walked him across the room to the easy chair. House was clutching his ribs.

Wilson went back and pulled a large heating pad from a desk drawer. "Ex-girlfriend," he said to Chase.

"Sure," Foreman muttered. "Man has a personality change, you look to a woman."

"She does pain management research out in California. Sometimes she sends him free samples."

"I feel great," House said.

"Your pupils are blown," Wilson told him. He plugged the heating pad into the wall and dropped it onto his stomach. "And you have at least one pulled muscle, I bet."

"Details." House draped an arm over his eyes.

"So he's just--stoned?" Chase took a step inside.

"Cameron!" House snapped. "Take a letter."

Cameron stiffened. "I'm not your secretary."

"Foreman! Take a letter."

Wilson shook his head and leaned on House's desk. He picked up a tablet of paper. "Dear Amanda?" he asked.

"Dear Amanda: I haven't felt this good since college. Definitely a winner. Euphoria is a nice side effect, though my young Kiwi protege may never be the same."

"That's New Zealand. I'm Australian," Chase said before he could stop himself. He knew when he was being mocked, honestly.

House chirped his hand at Chase. "Feel free to send more. Love, Greg. PS: The scars from your poisoned claws are nearly healed, so rest assured I'm sticking peacefully to my coast."

"PPS: House giggles like a little girl when he's high. Please, please, please, send more samples. Love, James," Wilson said. He punctuated the note with a flourish. "And you dated how long, again?"

"Well--we flirted, traded innuendo, and had long looks in staff meetings for about four years. Then we dated for about a month."

"I remember that. You got on the elevator on the first floor, fought all the way back up to the roof, back down to the basement, got off at the fourth floor and fought down the hall to her office." Wilson tore the paper off the pad.

"And fucked on the conference room table," House said. Chase covered his mouth and Cameron made a tiny noise beside him.

Wilson froze. "Not--"

"Yes."

"I did my *paperwork* at that table."

"Oh, yes."

"Paperwork for sick children and tiny babies."

House sighed. "I miss her."

"I worked there every day," Wilson said. "I need a shower."

"She kept suggesting a threeway," and this time Foreman choked.

"Okay! Done now." Wilson jumped up and shooed everyone into the outer room. "I'll be back when you have a filter," he said over his shoulder.

"That's an image that isn't going to fade soon," Foreman said. He sat at the table and regarded his bagged squirrel.

"A little trepanation, we'll all feel better..." Wilson headed back to the sink and had a scrub. Chase, fighting some fairly vivid imagery himself, leaned on the table next to Foreman.

Just then, a book smacked into the office door, swinging it open a crack. "You forgot my CANE!" House shouted.

"Well, I'll be off. Don't let him see any patients until that wears off. And get him his cane before he throws something worse," Wilson said, heading back out.

Chase looked at Cameron and Foreman. "Not it," Cameron and Foreman said in quick succession.

"Oh, come on," Chase said, but it was only a pro forma protest; he was already on his feet.

*


End file.
